


Roll in the Hay

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Bottom Mycroft Holmes, First Time, M/M, Master/Servant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Greg Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 23:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15205487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: Mycroft is intrigued by the new stableboy





	Roll in the Hay

Mycroft Holmes was looking forward to making a proper start in life. Now that school was finished, he had a job waiting for him in London. Of course, he first had to spend a few weeks at home at Mummy’s insistence.

The family home looked as it always did as Mycroft’s carriage arrived. No matter how much the world outside was changing, home always seemed to be green fields and father’s prized horses galloping in the distance, the ivy-covered walls and a garden virtually unchanged in thirty years.

He was unsurprised that nobody had met him at the station. Sherlock was home from boarding school and was no doubt wreaking all kinds of havoc on the normally quiet and perfectly respectable life their parents had built.

A servant collected his bags and Mycroft walked inside, finding Mummy in the solar.

“Ah, Mycie! I am so glad you’re home,” she said, getting to her feet and pulling him into a hug. 

Mycroft accepted it stiffly. “Thank you,” he said.

“I trust it was a pleasant journey?”

“As always,” he lied easily. It was mind-numbingly boring, even with a new book to read.

“Your Father is out in the stables. You should say hello,” she said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Of course,” he said. “And Sherlock?”

“Out in the woods somewhere. Cavorting with fairies probably.”

Mycroft smiled and nodded. That was often Mummy’s excuse for Sherlock’s behavior. He himself suspected that Sherlock was simply much worse at handling boredom than he was.

Leaving her, he headed out to the barn. Not that he and Father were close in any way, but the one thing the man did care about was his horses, so the stables would have been the most logical place to look for him anyway.

Stepping into the barn, he found the place quiet. Most of the horses were out getting exercise. He walked down the line of stalls, peeking in to see if by chance Father was hiding somewhere taking a nap. Or with one of the servants. Wouldn’t have been the first time Mycroft had caught him that way, though he’d always stolen away before Father knew he was there.

Instead, Mycroft was surprised to find a young man he didn’t know, sitting and oiling one of the riding crops. He was about Mycroft’s age, perhaps a year or two younger. Clearly a servant, and devilishly handsome, if Mycroft was truthful. He knew where his own predilections lay and had engaged in a discreet affair with one of his classmates not overly long ago, but one they both knew wasn’t destined to last. The man was focused on his task and Mycroft took a step back, not wanting to disturb him.

He’d taken a few steps away when the stall door opened and the man stepped out, still holding the crop with some casual authority that did nothing to alleviate Mycroft’s interest. “Can I help you, sir?” he asked. If Mycroft wasn’t mistaken, he was taking him in as well. Cheeky.

“Ah, just looking for Father,” said Mycroft. “And you are?”

“Greg Lestrade, sir. Just started working here a month ago or so. He’s out in the far field.”

“I’ll wait for him to return, then.” Mycroft couldn’t help but look at Greg’s warm dark eyes.

Greg smiled, and oh that was even more dangerous than his eyes. “Of course. Do you need anything in the meantime?”

Mycroft had several thoughts at once, none of them in the least bit proper. “Not at the moment, thank you,” he said instead, turning and walking away before he said or did something truly rash.

**

Mycroft fell into an easy routine over the next week or so. It was easy enough to avoid his family, for the most part, though he made certain to answer Sherlock’s questions. Sherlock seemed intent on his own things, however, and Mycroft wasn’t certain he wanted to know everything his little brother was up to.

He kept finding himself making his way out to the stables. Greg wasn’t the only stablehand, but he was the one Mycroft found himself watching most often. Father seemed pleased Mycroft was taking an interest in the animals and Mycroft let him believe what he wished.

One afternoon he stumbled upon Greg washing down one of the horses, shirt off and muscles glinting under the afternoon sun. He hadn’t stuck around very long after that, finding some excuse to spend time in his room.

Perhaps he should have known Greg was far from oblivious to his attentions.

**

Two weeks after arriving home, Mycroft again found himself in the stables. It was after supper and the gloaming spread across the land. He rubbed the nose of a speckled gray that stuck its head out in search of a treat. Most everyone had retired for the evening; he’d claimed he was taking a short walk.

A noise behind him made him turn, and he found Gregory just a few steps away, watching him.

Mycroft put on a proper smile. “Good evening.”

Greg stepped close to him. “Evening, Mister Holmes.”

Mycroft found himself crowded against the stall door. The horse wisely moved away.

“I… I am just here for the horses,” said Mycroft, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“No you’re not,” Greg’s voice came out as a low growl. “Sir.” 

“What are you imp…” Mycroft’s protests were cut off by Greg’s lips. He moaned into the kiss, clutching Greg’s arms, pulling him closer. Greg slotted his leg between Mycroft’s thighs and Mycroft rolled his hips, surprised, overwhelmed and more than pleased by the aggression.

“You’ve been watching me,” panted Greg when he finally pulled back, fingers reaching up to run through Mycroft’s hair.

Mycroft nodded, unable to speak, wanting Greg’s rough hands on him.

Greg leaned in and kissed him again, a little more tenderly. The horse whinnied and he pulled back again.

“Come on,” he said, taking Mycroft’s hand and pulling him along to a quiet corner of the hayloft.

Mycroft landed on his back, reaching for Greg. Greg obliged, kneeling over and kissing him, reaching down to open Mycroft’s trousers. Mycroft moaned again as he felt the cool night air on his skin.

“I want you, too,” said Greg, nipping his lower lip.

“Take me,” begged Mycroft. “Please, God, take me.”

Greg didn’t hesitate, getting Mycroft’s trousers off and then his own, tucking them under Mycroft to protect him from the hay. He kissed Mycroft again, teasing him. “You posh bastard,” he growled. “Watching me work, wandering around here with your red hair and that gorgeous arse.”

“As if you have room to talk with those deep brown eyes and that smile and those hands,” said Mycroft.

“These hands?” asked Greg pushing a finger into him.

Mycroft groaned and spread his legs for him, needing more.

Greg wiped his finger on the hay and lined up, kissing Mycroft deeply. Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg’s neck, opening his mouth to him.

Carefully, Greg started to push into Mycroft. Moaning softly, Mycroft wrapped his legs around Greg’s waist.

They both breathed heavily, lost in the moment. Greg’s fingers threaded with Mycroft’s as he sank fully in and started to thrust. Mycroft’s soft moans were muffled by Greg’s lips. It had never felt so good. Mycroft wanted nothing more than to stay in Greg’s arms forever.

Greg let go of one of Mycroft’s hands and grasped his cock. Mycroft arched up as Greg stroked him, whining softly, so close, and then spilling across his grip.

“Good,” murmured Greg, leaning in to kiss his throat before redoubling his efforts at reaching his own orgasm.

Mycroft opened his eyes and watched Greg’s face, thinking again of just how beautiful he was. He groaned as Greg came and pleasure washed across his features.

Greg dropped his head to Mycroft’s shoulder, panting. Mycroft traced his fingers along Greg’s back. “Gregory?” he asked after a few minutes.

“Hmm?” Greg didn’t seem inclined to move anytime soon.

“Have you ever considered becoming a personal valet?”

Greg raised his head and smiled at him. “Are you looking for one?”

Mycroft leaned in and kissed him. “I think the spot has just been filled.”


End file.
